


How long is eternity?

by Ysilme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Difficult Decisions, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstanding, Rescue Mission, Separation, Umbar corsairs, putting duty before love, quarrelling, sea travels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysilme/pseuds/Ysilme
Summary: Just before the departure of Elrond’s ship to Valinor, Erestor has gone missing.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	1. Mithlond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Argleena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argleena/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien’s creation, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.  
>  **Notes:** My most heartfelt thanks to the wonderful curiouswombat for speedy beta-reading, and to Lordhellebore and Siljan for hand-holding, idea-bouncing, and general support! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> Happy Valentine, Argleena!

****

* * *

With a nod to the sentry, Erestor passed the small pedestrian gate leading down to the waterside. Once outside he took a deep breath, grateful for the crisp air and the quiet, letting his gaze roam over the picturesque scenery. Here, just beyond the port, the river of Lhûn slowly expanded into the gulf, with the snow-peaked range of the Ered Luin standing guard in the distance, its slopes tinted blue by the dense forest and the premonition of the impending dusk. The waters were so calm that the handful of fishing boats anchored close-by lay still over their perfect reflection, interrupted only by the occasional ripple of a fish breaching the surface, and lapping quietly against the pebbles at his feet. 

To his right, the White Ship was moored to the quay, preparing for departure. People were busy with loading provisions and the traveller’s luggage, and swarming up the rigging for whatever needed doing to get a ship sea-ready. Elrond had explained it all to him many _yéni_ back on some sailing trip, but he could not remember. 

He was supposed to be up there as well, responsible as the steward of Imladris for the boarding and departure of their people. Since their arrival yesterday he had been busy with providing rooms for the night, organising the loading and storing of everybody’s luggage and making sure any additional provisions their group might need would be provided. Finding room on board for the countless boxes containing the larger part of Elrond’s library, which his master had insisted on taking with him, had been a major undertaking, and he had spent all night and day with lists and ledgers and exhausting discussions with a surprising number of people showing an equally surprising lack of understanding for the storage requirements of precious codices and manuscripts. 

When finally the last item on his lists was checked and the last box was accounted for, he suddenly could not take it any longer. He needed a break. All that remained was getting everybody on board and making sure nothing was left behind, the latter a task easily assigned to the aide Círdan had lent him, and when he told Elrond he was gently admonished for running himself so ragged, and to take his time to say his farewell to these shores. 

Farewell indeed. Erestor sighed. The last evening in Ennor, the last time he took a walk along the waterside, the last time he would be able to see the sun set over the sea. _The last time I am just a short journey away from Him._ He had been touched by Elrond’s concern, by the glimpse of the Elrond he had known for most of his life. _Oh Elrond, my dear friend, I must not let on how shocked I am to see you so frail and low. How can he not understand that I cannot leave you alone right now, that you need me still, until you are safely delivered to Valinor, and likely directly onwards to the gardens of Lórien? I worry about you so. Be strong, my dearest friend, just a little longer._

Dusk was now falling quickly, the sky a powdery purple-blue changing into a deep orange at the horizon. The colours were so intense it took his breath away. Would he ever see such celestial colours again, such unique beauty as the sky was following the sojourn of _anor_ and _ithil_ in their never-ending chase? He realised that he had no idea how these things were in Valinor; somehow the subject had never come up. There was so much he did not know about Valinor, so much he would miss, so much he had to leave behind. 

_I do not want to leave, not yet. Not without Him. This is my home, the only home I have ever known._ But it was his duty as Elrond’s friend and life-long companion, and the vow he had made to himself. Not an oath sworn with witnesses, but for him, that made no difference. They had quarrelled often in the months and weeks before their departure, which had not made Erestor’s decision easier. Why could Glorfindel not understand that Erestor was not acting out of obligation to his lord and master, but compassion and love to one he regarded as chosen family? Had he not sworn an oath himself to protect the descendants of Turgon’s line, and chosen to remain in Ennor for that very purpose? Erestor had accepted that without questioning, although that clearly meant separation, who knew for how long. They had made up in the end, not wanting to separate in disagreement; but not in full understanding and harmony, and the discord still lingered.   
_Oh Fin. I miss you already, and I will miss you every moment until we come together again. Perhaps my decision was wrong, I do not know._

The light was waning now. There was still time, the White Ship was to depart at the turn of the tide, two candle-marks before midnight. But he better returned now before it grew too dark to see his way. In front of him rose a rocky ledge, overgrown with shrubs and a crooked tree or two, and a rivulet gurgling its merry way down. He squatted down and scooped some water to quench his thirst. 

Above, the evenstar appeared, and brought his thoughts back to Imladris. The other evenstar no longer resided there, happily united now with her beloved, if much less happy to now live among people who had so little understanding and appreciation of her culture. Her, he would never see again, and he bit his lip to suppress the traitorous burning behind his eyelids. This had been her choice, and she had every right to it, no matter that it caused hurt to so many. _Our choices often hurt others. This cannot be avoided, no matter how hard we try, and how painful the consequences are. But at least I know that you will be watching over her, and the boys, which is as much comfort to me as it is to Elrond._

A faint sound behind him brought him out of his musings. But before he could turn around or find out why this particular sound caught his attention, something hit him over the head, and his mind went black. 

0=0=0=0


	2. The Letter

“By the fires of Udûn!”

Lossiel, captain of the Imladris guard now that her former superior had switched duties to substitute as lord of the realm while lord Elrond’s sons were travelling, looked up from her rosters. 

“Everything all right, sir?”

Glorfindel looked up from the letter he was reading, taking a moment to focus on her. 

“No. Erestor has gone missing.”

“What?” 

Glorfindel cleared his throat. “The missive is from Círdan. It seems Erestor went on a walk on the evening before the scheduled departure, but never returned. They delayed for two days and sent out search troops, assuming that he had had a mishap or an accident. But no trace was found, so the White ship has sailed, while the search continues.”

He jumped up, balling the letter up in his hands and starting to march up and down. “Balrog shit!”

“Very fitting, sir.”

“What is going on?” 

Malchanar, Erestor’s erstwhile assistant and now successor as steward, stood in the doorway. 

“Erestor is missing. The captain - I mean, lord Glorfindel just got a letter from lord Círdan.”

“Oh, drop the ‘lord’, Lossiel, will you? There is no need for formalities any more.” He slumped back into his chair, raking his hair with both hands. “Sit down, ‘Chanar, we need to discuss what to do.”

While he briefed the steward, he saw Lossiel smoothing down the letter to read it herself. 

She looked up. “We need to send as many warriors as we can spare to help searching. Maybe some locals helped him after an accident, and forgot to send a note, or did not know where to, or he got lost -”

“Lost? Erestor?” Glorfindel snorted. “Not likely. That man knows this area like his pocket, which is no surprise after the _yéni_ he roamed the countryside. No, something must have happened to him.”

Malchanar cleared his throat. “I hate to say this, but what if he had an accident involving the sea? He was walking along the coast, after all.”

“It is a possibility.” Glorfindel mussed up his hair even more. “We need to contact Ossë or Uinen, they will know. Who in Imladris is able to do so?”

“Not many.” Malchanar looked apologetic. “Elrond, his sons, and Erestor. Oh, and Círdan.”

“We can send a request to Círdan by bird,” Lossiel offered, “there are still many here who can talk to birds.”

Since the end of the war, more than half of the Imladris residents had left, a small number relocating to other elven settlements, but the majority to sail to the Undying lands. The last had gone with their lord just recently, leaving Imladris a much diminished realm with barely enough inhabitants to keep up with the day-to-day tasks. Thankfully, the messenger bird service was not affected, as it were only Nando and Avari who possessed the gift of talking to birds and acquiring their services, to carry messages in exchange for food and sometimes shelter; and of those, most had remained behind. 

“Yes, a bird to Círdan, followed by our host, and also birds to all other elven settlements, to Rohan and to Gondor.”

“I will see to it.” Malchanar leaned over the desk for some parchment, ink and quill, and set to work. “The Shire, too, I suppose? It is closest to Mithlond, after all.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Lossiel stepped outside, and he heard her hollering down the corridor for a runner before she came back in. 

“I think we can spare up to three dozen, sir, without endangering the valley’s security. Who shall lead them? You are the obvious choice, of course.”

This was no easy decision. The obvious solution was to send Lossiel, his second-in-command and most experienced officer, while he remained at the valley, given that he was substituting for Elrond’s sons as the lord of the realm. Particularly now that so many Imladrim had left, while newcomers from other realms were settling in, and a new community was forming, it was important to have a central figure in the leading position, somebody to give stability. _I have promised Elrond to do this, so the twins could travel and be with Arwen and Estel._ But what he really wanted was to go himself, to be as close to Erestor as possible, to DO something, anything. _I have also given my pledge to Erestor, and I have put him beyond my duty so often before._ There was nothing he could do better than Lossiel or any of his senior officers, and he had no doubt that Círdan was not doing anything possible to find his spouse. But -

“I am sure it will be all right if you leave, sir,” Lossiel said softly. “Malchanar is very capable, and people know him well already. I know you feel it your duty to be here during the absence of the lords Elrohir and Elladan, but I am also convinced that nobody will begrudge you the decision to go searching for your husband yourself. Erestor is well-loved, and his disappearance will worry everybody.”

Glorfindel took a deep breath. “All right, then I will go. Send word to lieutenant Rivorn please; I will take him and three dozen warriors, and we need equipment and provisions for an extended journey.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Lossiel left, and Malchanar looked up. “I have penned the missive for the Men’s and the Elven settlements. If you will kindly look them over, I will have them copied and sent forthwith. Do you want to write the one for Círdan yourself?”

“Yes, and also the one to Estel - I mean, Elessar, with an added note for Arwen and the twins. Thank you, ‘Chanar.”

“Lossiel is right,” the steward added, “you are the right choice. Master Erestor has always been the focal point of life in the valley, and I am confident that any Imladrim, old or new, would agree to aid him in the best way possible. We will be all right here, do not worry.”

“I have no doubt you will, you are more than capable. It is just that I had promised Elrond to substitute for the twins when they are away, and feel guilty for breaking this promise so soon after his departure. But Elrond would be the first to send me under these circumstances, I am sure.

0=0=0=0


	3. The Corsair

Just before sunrise, wind got finally up, flapping the bound sails of the _Screeching Siren_ as she was swaying at her anchor. A soft command woke the silent ship, sending bare-footed sailors running to the capstan to heave in the anchor as silently as possible, while others made haste to set the sails.   
Captain Tiglathpileser Gonbat put the glass to his eye, nervously scanning the far too close coastline for movement of any kind. The sudden calm after sunset had been quite unfortunate, threatening discovery and danger. It had been risky to come so far into the gulf of Lhûn but necessary to follow their orders to spy on the naval facilities of the coastal settlements, but they’d found a good anchorage to hide the _Screeching Siren_ between rocky headland and a small island. A ship of their size would not long go undetected, though, so he was eager to return to the open sea now that they had fulfilled their mission, the official as well as the private part. 

“Nor’-west by west,” he said, checking the sails as the helmsman obeyed. Daylight would doubtlessly bring search parties, as their captive was no simple fisherman if his clothes were anything to go by, but he was confident that they would be already well on their way back home before anybody would connect the elf’s disappearance with the red sails seen further down the gulf. The sails had been bad planning, they should have brought light ones to be less conspicuous. Well, too late now, and they had got what they had come for, so what did it matter. Beyond the headlands of Andrast the corsair ships of Umbar were well known, and if he’d been the one planning this mission he wouldn’t have chosen one of these for a spying mission, but something more common to the coasts of Eriador. But what did he know, a mere captain, against the superior experience of nauarch Bomilcar Ahipene who had not been to sea since he rose to the rank of admiral, and had also never even sailed as far north as Belfalas bay. 

The leadsman called out, and now free of the land, the _Screeching Siren_ turned west and took up speed. Tiglath relaxed, confident that after last night, they could consider their mission as accomplished, and he could return home with the hope of keeping his head on his shoulders. After the disaster of the Ring war he, one of the surviving Umbar corsairs, had put his ship under Far Harad protection and command, which had led to this special mission, promising at first as he was the first corsair to explore these waters. But ever since they’d passed Andrast, things had not gone to plan. His order had been to reconnoitre and to spy out the coastal settlements and their defences, but nobody had really taken into consideration that the _Screeching Siren_ with her dark red sails and her unusual build was far too suspicious for such a task, so the information gathered was more than incomplete. But this mission really was a decoy for the secret assignment he had been given by the prince himself, an assignment repugnant to him, which meant something for a corsair. 

“So back home it is, aye?” 

Tiglath turned and nodded to his lieutenant. “Aye. We have what we came for, and I don’t want to tarry now that we have our special cargo on board. Wouldn’t want to spoil it, eh?”

Jagur Kaupz grunted. “They keep quite well, better than our kind,” he remarked. 

“True. How’s our newest one doing?”

“Still out. I fear he was hit a bit strongly over the head. But he’s breathing fine an’ all that, he’ll do right.”

Tiglath sighed. Kaupz, responsible for their ‘cargo’ wasn’t squeamish about how they were treated, claiming there were always enough anyway, so what did it matter. 

“This one’s special, so be sure he survives,” he snapped, “or you’ll answer personally to the prince.”

“Ah, don’t get yer drawers in a twist, capt’n. Them Elves are hard to kill.”

“If you crack their head open they will. This one’s the only dark-haired one. Have your go at the others if you must, but this one’s under my special protection, hear?”

“Aye, sir!” 

0=0=0

Later, when they had left the gulf behind, Kaupz took the bridge, and the captain went below to check on their cargo. Their most recent acquisition had been put into Kaupz’ cabin, a cubbyhole partitioned off the main cabin with just enough room for a swinging cot and a chair.  
There was no window, and the air was stale, reeking of vomit, old sweat, and urine. A dirty lantern lit a slim figure laying in the cot, so tall that his legs had been bent to fit him in, his face deathly pale where it was not covered in purple-blackish bruises, with cold sweat glittering in the dim light. Night-dark hair, his narrow build, and the high quality clothes he wore marked him as a different race than the others they had got from the coast - who knew these Elves had different races, too, like Men? If Tiglath hadn’t known better he’d taken this one for a female, but he knew Kaupz had checked that he was what they were looking for. 

Getting their first elves hadn’t been difficult; they were all simple folk nobody would search for, caught off their fishing boats or even the beach in coves and estuaries where the corsairs had lain waiting with their boat, taking, as ordered, only male ones with a narrow build and a boyish look. Dark hairs were a plus, but until now, all they had were brown or russet, and of a stockier build. There’d also been a Man or two, with black hair but young enough to not yet have a beard, but those had not held out long - one had tried to flee and drowned, and the other had caught some illness early on. Tiglath didn’t care much either way - he was a corsair, and while he’d never had a taste for slave trade, he also had no love lost for their enemies. 

Tiglath was experienced enough to know that the ‘little private request on the side’ the prince had asked for when he’d been given his orders was truly the real reason for this journey, with the reconnoitring mission being only a decoy to not display the prince’s decadence too openly. He also knew better than to let how much he despised to carry out this ‘private request’, no matter that they were after their enemy who’d killed so many of his comrades. A battle was a battle, and it was a honest death to fall when fighting the enemy. But kidnapping civilians for the perverted pleasure of an inbred prince? Blergh. Even just capturing people to be used as work force if there was a need, or women to breed children - neither task had any honour, but they at least served an acceptable purpose. But this? 

_“I want Elves, captain, young, slim, and dark-haired. Best with black hair, and no warrior build, do you hear me?”_

Tiglath felt almost sorry for the Elf, and for what lay ahead of him. If it weren’t about keeping his own head, and a future, he wouldn’t have minded if the captive died after all. 

Well, one did what one had to do. For a moment, he wondered if the Elf had not already died. But bending down to check for a breath, he saw the chest rising a little. Wrinkling his nose at the sour smell of the soiled clothes, he patted the Elf’s cheek to see if he’d get a reaction. A faint moaning was the response, and satisfied, he went next door to get a snatch of sleep. 

0=0=0=0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nauarch = commander of a ship or a fleet in Ancient Greece, here used for the fleet admiral of the Harad navy


	4. The Search

Glorfindel stood on the terrace of Círdan’s palace at Mithlond, overlooking the harbour, and the gulf beyond.   
It was strange not to see one of the big ships either lying moored at the quay, or in the process of construction on the shipyard further upstream. There had always been a ship, ever since he had been sent back, until now. No more ships would be built, until the very last one, whenever that might be. 

He took a deep lungful of the air, enjoying the salty tang as much as the cries of the gulls above, reminding him of the time when they had all lived here at the gulf, and where he had fallen in love to Erestor. _Oh my dark one, my dearest love, where are you? I miss you so._

They had arrived in the early morning, exhausted from their fast journey, his faint thread of hope extinguished right away when he saw Círdan’s expression. No news, then. At least that also meant no bad news, Glorfindel tried to convince himself. After a hearty breakfast and a briefing of the Falathrim’s efforts so far, the Imladris’ host had been sent to rest, while Glorfindel had been given a letter and left to his own devices to read it in peace. A letter from Elrond, written after Erestor’s disappearance, while they waited for the White Ship to sail. He took it out to read it again. 

> _My dearest friend,_
> 
> _it is with a heavy heart that I am penning this last missive to you, for - as you undoubtedly know by now - Erestor has gone missing, and there have been no signs of his whereabouts so far. We have delayed our departure for two days but cannot wait any longer, so we will depart without our dearest friend and most trusted servant with a heavy heart about his fate. Know, my friend, that I neither wanted nor expected Erestor to sail with me, considering the bond you two share, and the life he still has in Ennor. But he refused to be deterred, stubbornly insisting on taking care of everything for me until he could deliver me into the care of Irmo and Estë where I should be healed. Stubborn, yes, but oh so very sweet and heartwarming - to you only, my dearest friend, I confess how much it meant to me that Erestor was willing to give up his own immediate future, and so many years with you, just for my sake. I have never sought any reward for fighting and vanquishing Evil, but I feel that I have been given so much back simply by Erestor’s choice._   
>  _Two hearts are warring in my chest - my own consolation and the comfort Erestor’s choice is giving me, but also my regret and worry about his own fate - and, in consequence, yours. For you two must forego of each other’s company for who knows how long, who knows how many years, until also your vow is fulfilled and you feel free to come back a second time. Having sent away my beloved Celebrían all those yéni back, I have an inkling of what you are facing, although it was much different for us - we did not have a choice, you did. Or rather, Erestor did, and having him chose me over you must smart badly._   
>  _I am forever in your debt for having borne that so calmly, and keeping any of your own pain and worry away from me, to not burden me more - I have noted it even so, but have been too exhausted, too fatigued to have addressed it. For that, I also ask your forgiveness, my friend._   
>  _But now things have taken an unexpected turn, and Erestor has vanished. Círdan is convinced that some evil befell Erestor, either an accident, or, worse, some intervention by an enemy. I do not see how an enemy should have come so close to one of our major settlements, but of course Círdan would know better. But still - I have had much time for thought while I waited for news, and my mind cannot let go of a third option. What if Erestor reconsidered at the last moment, and decided to not sail after all? When he left everything was settled, we only needed to go aboard and leave, and he knew that I would be well cared for by our esteemed Master Amardír and his healers, and the other friends who are coming with me. Considering how worried he was about me and how frail I must appear these days, perhaps our Erestor found it easier to not tell me about this decision, but chose to vanish for a bit to make it appear like an accident. Or perhaps he simply acted spontaneously - he had had so much on his mind all these last months, that perhaps for once he did not care anymore, and just let himself be._   
>  _Know, my dear friend, that I would not begrudge Erestor any of this, but am fully understanding. I am beyond grateful for his services throughout our mutual sojourn at our heaven, Imladris, and my utmost desire is for Erestor to find is peace, and the rest and leisure after all this toil._
> 
> _Namárië, beloved friend and most trusted companion, until we see each other again!_

Glorfindel gripped the stone banister so hard his hands hurt. He wanted to cry out, to shout into the wind, to give voice to his anguish and his pain. _Oh Resto, my dark one, what has happened to you? Are you safe, or in peril?_

He closed his eyes at the sound of steps behind him, not wanting to be disturbed in his turmoil. But it was only Círdan, bearing a bottle and two cups, beckoning him to a bench nearby. 

“Elrond gave me his last bottle of miruvor, as a parting gift,” he said, pouring them both a healthy dose and handing one cup to Glorfindel. “Perhaps he knew we might need it.”

Glorfindel accepted gratefully, taking a generous sip, and let himself be comforted by the familiar taste and sensation. 

“Anything new?” Círdan nodded at the letter in Glorfindel’s hand.

Glorfindel set down his cup, folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his coat.   
“I am not sure, he may have told you about this already. But he thinks Erestor might have vanished on purpose, in a last-minute decision to remain here after all.”

Círdan nodded slowly. “Elrond said nothing about this to me, but I thought about this myself. What do you think?”

“It might be possible. I - I do not know, Círdan. Erestor and I - we did not depart peacefully, you see. We quarrelled often, about why I would not come with them, bound by my oath to protect Idril’s line as I am, and about his own vow to Elrond to see him safely to Valinor.”

“A vow?” Círdan looked surprised.

“A private one, he told only me about it. But he felt bound to Elrond, to see him safely to Valinor, even if that meant leaving me behind as I could not come. I - I did not understand how important that was to him, I only saw his choice for Elrond instead of me, and - well, I did not react very kindly when he told me.”   
He cleared his throat.

“Oh dear.”

“We did not part in dispeace, we both knew that would be a bad idea. But it was an agreement made of reason, not of mutual understanding and acceptance, and I am ruing it more than I can say. I am worried that I caused Erestor much anguish and unrest, and he has not earned that.”

Círdan nodded slowly. “So he might indeed have decided to go his own way for a bit,” he mused. 

“Yes.”

Above, two gulls broke out in a fight, screeching and attacking each other. Glorfindel watched them until they vanished below the banister, and then reappeared, one chasing the other out to the gulf. 

“And you could get no news from Uinen,” Glorfindel repeated what Círdan had told him earlier. 

“No. It took a few days to be able to speak to her, but she had no knowledge about him. Mind, she scolded me, saying she was not responsible to look after every skin creature that tumbled into the sea,” Círdan said with a faint grin. “She likes to poke fun at us coastal folks at times. But there has been other news, which are more worrisome.”

“I see.”

“A few days after I sent my letter to you, a fishermen reported sighting a strange ship with red sails sailing down the gulf. He could not remember the exact date, so we do not know if this took place before or after Erestor’s disappearance. But there is a likelihood that Erestor is on that ship.”

“Not by his own free will!”

“No, of course not.” 

Círdan made to pour them another dose, but Glorfindel refused. Instead, he got up, needing to move to be able to think clearly. 

“Do you think you can talk to Uinen again, and ask about that ship?”

“Yes, I think so. She does care, even if it does not always appear so.”

“What do we do now?” Glorfindel came back to the bench and sat down again, accepting Círdan’s offer. The stimulant was welcome; he was beyond tired after having ridden through the night.

“After the searching my folk has done, I think we can rule out that Erestor had an accident during his hike, and has been stranded somewhere in the vicinity. Word has passed around, and even if somebody helped him and took him home, I would have heard by now. There has been nothing of the kind, also nothing involving an unknown individual. So it is either what Elrond suggests, that Erestor has gone away by himself. In this case, I am sure he will sooner or later let us know, perhaps not his whereabouts but that he is well and safe. This might take time, though, as he would rightly assume that he will be searched. He might hide somewhere.”

“True. I agree that he might want to be on his own for the time being, but he would not vanish without sending word eventually.”

“Indeed. This leaves us with the only other trail we have got - the ship with the red sails. By what the fisherman told about its appearance and build, this might have well been one of these corsairs that went up the Anduin during the last battles, I know that they sometimes come as far north as the Belfalas bay for their raids. I also know that none of the larger craft between here and Gondor carries other than pale sails. By my estimation, our best chance is to pursue this ship by sea and by land, and find out as much about it as we can.”

Glorfindel noticed that Círdan did not mention catching up with the corsair, or even rescuing Erestor if he had been captured by them. 

“This is what we do. First, you get some sleep, you need it urgently, and your horses the rest. Tonight, you will set out with your own and two dozen of my warriors and ride to Harlond. We do not have many seaworthy craft in the gulf anymore, but they have suitable a vessel there. You will take her with half of your men and follow the corsair down the coast. I will send birds to Edehllond and Dol Amroth, hoping they will send ships to support us in case you will get that far. Your lieutenant will take the rest of the warriors and proceed by land, first to search the coast beyond the mountains, and then following you down to the Baranduin estuary.”

“It is like looking for a needle in a haystack.” Glorfindel sighed, rubbing his eyes. “It is a sound plan. There is no point for the riders to go further than the Baranduin, there is little chance that they might find anything anyway.”

“Off you go and rest, then. I will take care of the preparations, so everything will be ready for your departure.”

0=0=0

But when Glorfindel laid in Círdan’s comfortable guest bed, sleep would not come. Ever since he had heard about Erestor’s disappearance, he had been deeply worried about what might have befallen his spouse. During their journey, he had tried to keep up the hope that everything would turn out to be an odd accident or a weird mishap, and that Erestor might even had already be found. But these two new possibilities rather unsettled him. What if Elrond was guessing right, and Erestor had really chosen to disappear and go away from everything? Glorfindel had to admit that this was entirely possible, and, worse, that he might have contributed considerably himself to such a reaction, given how little understanding for Erestor’s situation he had shown, and how much he had disregarded what was important to him. _I am so sorry, my love, I have wronged you so badly. I was so focused on my own duty and my own future, and so angry that you would disregard my needs and follow your own. I had no right to except that to you, and without even asking! But I did, and hurt you in the progress._

He realised that he did not even mind, if that had been Erestor’s choice - and not because it meant Erestor would, out of necessity, remain in Ennor. _No, if you have gone for this reason, I will be happy, happy that you can be free and do what you need. And I will have a ship built for you, so you can still follow Elrond, if that is what you desire. Our time to be together again will come, and I would wait patiently for it._

Yes, if Erestor had chosen to go on his own journey, he would be grateful, and patient, even if he would not know about it for a long time. But what if not? What if Círdan’s suspicion was right, and Erestor had been taken by the corsairs, from Umbar or whatever foul place down south? Would they have targeted him, or taken him as a spoil of war or the like? What would they want of him? Glorfindel was too afraid of the suggestions of his mind to give them further thoughts. Squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to quench his pain, he could not stop the tears from wetting his cheeks. What chance had they to intercept the corsair, or to even free Erestor in case they did? If Círdan had any ship capable of dealing with a corsair he would have said so. He knew there were armed ships in Gondor, but that was a long way to go. So much could happen to a prisoner on a ship in the meantime.

0=0=0=0


	5. The Ship

Pain. Sickening, throbbing, pain. His head must be about to explode, or something similar. Sounds and smells started to filter into his conscience, none of them pleasant or welcome. 

With a groan, Erestor opened his eyes, grateful for the low light although even that felt painfully bright. Something moved - no, he moved - an unpleasant stench hit his nose, and he turned quickly to the side and was violently sick. The stench of his vomit nearly made him empty his stomach again, while his head was now definitely exploding. The returning blackness engulfing him was more than welcome. 

0=0=0

Much later, when his head no longer tried to kill him, Erestor learned that he, together with a handful of other Elves, was a captive on a corsair’s ship, on their way to the prince of Far Harad. He had no memory of his capture, and not much of the first, miserable, days, when his life consisted of blinding headaches, nausea, and the constant stench of vomit and urine. 

What he did remember was that he had been taken just before the departure of the last ship to Valinor, where he was meant to sail with Lord Elrond and the Imladrim host. It did not bother him much that he had clearly missed that ship, but he deeply worried about the sorrow his disappearance must have given to his friend and master Elrond, as well as Glorfindel back home at Imladris, who would have long since heard about his misfortune. 

Erestor had no idea how much time had passed since his capture. Judging by the state of his injuries it must have been a few weeks already, for some of his many bruises were already fading, and there was a thick scar at the back of his head, still painful to the touch but already well-healed. He was also missing two teeth, must have broken some fingers - he had not been able to use them at first, and now one finger was crooked -, and something more permanent was wrong with his knee. It did not feel right, did not bear his weight, and hurt with every movement. 

He also did not know the reason for their capture. His best guess was that they were going to be sold as slaves, a practice he believed to be common in the Harad. Knowing that he could not change his fate or his situation at the moment Erestor tried for a stoic approach.

There were good days, like today, when the sun was out and they were allowed on deck to get some fresh air. Only on the foredeck under strong guard, of course, and all but him with bound hands and feet, lest one of them tried something stupid like jumping overboard. There was no need to bind him, of course, as he could not walk without leaning on somebody or something, but he had to sit all the time so his hands could be seen.   
But at least he could talk to the others, and enjoy the sun and the air. 

Erestor also seemed to be distinct from the others for other reasons than his injury, for he had noticed that he was not treated half as roughly as the others, got better and more food, and was also not kept down in the hold.

“Do you know where they are bringing us?” That was Nirion, a young fisherman from Ithilien, one of the first captives of the corsairs.

“What do they want from us?”

“Quiet, we do not know if they understand us,” Erestor admonished. 

“They do not,” Ramath said, “we put that to the test already.”

There was some chuckling at this remark.

“How come you understand them?” Egros, also a fisherman but from the Gwathló estuary, wanted to know.

“Their language seems to be some dialect of Adûnaic. I have not spoken it myself for a long time and I do not understand all their words, but some of it. They are taking us to their homeland, I think, although I am not sure if that means Umbar or the Harad, as they keep talking about a Haradrim prince and city. I need to be careful lest they find out I understand.”

“Yes, be careful, please, Erestor.” Ramath, the unelected leader of their motley group, looked at Erestor’s arm which still spotted a deeply-coloured bruise. 

Erestor nodded. “How is Halvion doing?”

Ramath sighed. “Not well, I fear. I think he has broken ribs. His breathing is shallow, and he spits blood.”

“Oh dear.” Erestor did not understand why the corsairs were treating them surprisingly well on the one hand, with decent food, sufficient water also to wash, and fresh air, but at the same time did not care that so often ‘accidents’ happened from being manhandled or punished. None of them was uninjured, although it was mostly cuts and bruises, or a sprained wrist or ankle. But Halvion had been separated two day ago, what for nobody had understood, and was said to have fallen down a hatch. 

Before they could talk more their time was up, and the guards ushered the others back down into the hold, while one of them clasped Erestor’s arm and half-dragged him astern. He still lived in the tiny cabin next to the big one, and was pushed inside with the lock closed behind him. 

Erestor slumped down onto the chair, the only piece of furniture that found place in the tiny cubbyhole besides the hanging cot, and rubbed his knee. It hurt again, deep inside, more than the last time. Once again he worried if this might be healed again, provided, of course, a proper healer would look after him at some time or other. Or did it even matter? They had no chance of escape, and what chances would be there once they had arrived? Nobody knew where they were, and even then, how would somebody be able to come after them for a rescue? The corsair ship was fast, and the southern lands were vast and mostly unknown to Men and Elves.   
Later, when he was eating his meal, he heard raised voices from the big cabin next door. Carefully, he set his bowl aside, slid onto the floor and put his ear to the wall. Perhaps he could find out more about their destination or their fate. It was the captain and the lieutenant, and they seemed to be quarrelling. 

“This is going too far, Kaupz! I’ve said it before, it’ll be your head as well as mine if the cargo is damaged. You cannot let your anger out on the prisoners anymore, d’you hear me?”

Erestor could not understand the answer, but it was clear that the lieutenant disagreed. It must be he, then, who caused the frequent ‘accidents’ of the prisoners, Erestor thought. As if on cue he felt a twinge in his crooked finger. He missed the beginning of the captain’s next bit. 

“… lost too many already. The rest must kept intact and good-looking, Kaupz, particularly the black-haired one. I could kill you for the fact alone that you knocked his tooth out and broke his knee. The prince wants his … pretty and hale, not looking as if somebody had already had a go at them!”

What was that? Erestor’s mind reeled. He had believed his injuries had been collateral damage from a rough capture, but apparently they had been inflicted intentionally? But worse was the rest of what the captain had said. He had not understood that one word, but it was pretty clear what it meant: they were to be whores for that prince. It made a perverted kind of sense, Erestor supposed; he knew enough of the world to see the appeal of good looking young Elf men with their generally androgynous appearance, particularly if they had a slim, non-masculine build and boyish faces. He was not entirely sure if this also applied to him, as he definitely had no longer a boyish face, and while he was slim he was also rather on the bony side. But he was the only one with dark hair, and his hair had been remarked upon on occasions by the sailors. Or perhaps it was a power thing, because he was a different class than a manual worker. Or perhaps they knew him and had targeted him especially for his role in the war? 

Carefully, he eased away from the dividing wall to not be heard, and then slumped against the planks on the other side. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The way the prisoners were kept - enough food to keep their shape and a good skin, fresh air and sun to not get too pale. Also, the relatively small number of captives - he had not thought about this before, but to undertake such a journey, with all the dangers it comprised to sail so far up the enemy’s coast, and into the large gulf as well, for nothing more than - what - seven head? Or even the ten it would have been had all survived. 

And there was still no hope of rescue, no hope of somebody even knowing what had happened to them. The others came from such small villages that it was likely not even possible that larger searches could be organised for them, if they were not even believed to have had a fatal accident. 

A whore! No. Never. Being sold as a slave was bad enough, but that offered at least the possibility of being able to kill oneself, or fade without too much difficulty, particularly if the work was hard. But that? How quickly could you fade, to escape the worst of such an ordeal? No, he needed an alternative, a means to kill himself before this journey was over. 

_O Fin, how I wish you were here, or at least close! I miss you so. How stupid have I been, to quarrel with you about such mundane things - and mundane they are, when it gets down to it. We both needed to follow our paths, and I was hurt because I did not want to spend so many years without you. I expected a compromise from you, nay, I suppose what I really wanted was your commitment to me only, and not to your oath. How blind of me to not understand that, and how petty to want that, even subconsciously. Forgive me, my beloved, for having failed you so. And forgive me for my stubbornness, even more so as it is now leading to a much longer separation than we both thought: for it will doubtlessly be a very long time until Lord Námo deems me worthy to leave his halls again…  
_

Erestor reached up to the cot for the blanket, to cover his head and muffle any sound. He wanted, he needed to cry out his pain and his anguish, but not for those bastards to hear. The sea might hear it much as he cared, listening to the whooshing sounds of the passing water just a few inches away as he lay now fully against the hull, with nothing but a few pieces of wood between him and the sea. It felt oddly comforting, to be so close to the element. 

0=0=0

About midnight, when Erestor had long since fallen into an exhausted sleep, strong winds came up despite the clear sky, and the sea began to boil in a sudden maelstrom. Everything went so fast that the captain was not even out of his cot when the _Screeching Siren_ keeled over and sank. 

A two-day’s journey away, the dawn brought a huge mass of seabirds, circling a small yacht with snowy white sails, screeching and calling until their message had been understood, and a blond Elf sank onto his knees, his face as white as the sails. 

At the same time, an insubstantial being made of wind and water, carried four broken, limp, shapes onto the shore, leaving them between the water and the sand, as the saying goes. She had done her part, the rest was up to themselves. 

0=0=0=0


	6. The Bird

It was a gull, of all birds, who brought the message. 

At first, nobody noticed, used as they were to the many seabirds circling the _Swallow_ all the time, while the messenger birds usually were ravens, or small birds of prey. But when the large white bird landed, somewhat clumsily, on the bulwark next to Glorfindel and pecked him, he noticed the small tube tied to its leg. Thanking it in his broken Nandorin learned for the purpose, he untied the message, while a sailor offered it the usual reward, a small rat. The gull pecked Glorfindel again and then took off, settling on the mast top to devour its prize before taking off with reproachful cries. 

“Oh dear, I think it rather wanted a fish,” the sailor remarked, but Glorfindel did not notice, staring at the small parchment in his hands.

“What is it? Bad news?” The captain approached him with a worried look. 

Glorfindel looked up. He started to speak, but his voice failed. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It is Erestor. They found him.” 

Suddenly, his legs gave in, and he dropped heavily onto the deck. He took a deep breath. “He is safe.”

The whole deck went silent, and everybody who could flocked around him. Many of the Falathrim also knew Erestor from his time in Lindon, and all had been shocked when they heard the news of the sinking of the corsair ship. Glorfindel made no attempt to hide his tears. 

“Let me see.” The captain knelt down at his side and took the parchment. After scanning it quickly, he said aloud: “This is from lord Elrohir, Elrond’s son, sent from a fishing village in Anfalas. It seems Erestor had been washed up onto the beach there, half-drowned and badly injured, but alive. The woman who found him sent word to Dol Amroth and is looking after him since then.”

Glorfindel took the note back to read it again with his own eyes, while excited chatter broke out around him.

“The Valar be thanked from the deepest of my heart! This is more than I dared to hope for. Erestor is found, and safe!” He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose, and stood back up. 

“We are not too far from there, captain, are we?”

“No, a few days at most, although it might take us some time to find the right village!”

0=0=0

It turned out to be easier to find the fishing village than expected. Uinen herself had come to their aid, and guided the _Swallow_ to the small bay where she had brought Erestor after the wrecking of the corsair’s ship. Glorfindel itched to run up to the handful of cottages and huts, but first, he knelt just at the water’s edge, putting his hands into the wet sand, to give thanks to the Maiar for their rescue of Erestor, and their help and guidance in finding him again. He did not expect an answer, but as he was about to get up, a particularly large wave washed over him, wetting him through. Laughing, Glorfindel got up, shaking the water off as well as possible, and lifted his hand in greeting. Then he turned and ran up the path to the village. 

He spotted Erestor right away. A lawn chair stood in the neatest little garden in front of a tiny pink cottage, on it a tall figure with the familiar night-dark hair. Glorfindel stopped at the fence, drinking in the sight greedily. Erestor was sleeping, wrapped in a blanket, his face pale and gaunt. But a rosy shimmer lay on his cheeks, and his chest was rising steadily. 

“Oh Resto,” he whispered, opening the gate, which betrayed him with a distinct squeak. 

Erestor opened his eyes, and the quick succession of surprise, wonder, and infinite joy he saw was all Glorfindel needed. He sank on his knees at Erestor’s side, reaching for the hand that was drawn out from under the blankets, and laid his head onto his beloved’s chest. He was home. 

“I am never leaving you again,” Erestor said, gripping his hand so hard that his fingers went white. “Never again, do you hear?”

“Nor do I.”

0=0=0=0=0

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes:**  
>  Ered Luin = blue mountains  
> yén, yéni = Elven long years, 1 yén = 144 sun years  
> anor = sun  
> ithil =moon  
> nauarch = commander of a ship or a fleet in Ancient Greece, here used for the fleet admiral of the Harad navy
> 
> Anything relating to the Corsairs of Umbar, the royal house of Far Harad, and the Harad military forces, is more or less made up by me based on the few bits I remembered from the books and movies, combined with various non-Tolkien-related facts and findings. The ideas came up so late in the writing process that there was no time for detailed research, and I kindly ask your forgiveness for any blatant canon errors I might have made.  
> For the names of both, I had fun with unusual name generator choices, but none of them is based on any names from Tolkien’s legendarium. I also chose to call the language of the corsairs Adûnaic for simplicity; my understanding of the legendarium’s linguistics is too limited for more than a guess. 
> 
> The idea that only some Elves have the ability to speak with Maiar like Ossë and Uinen is part of my headcanon. Same goes for the messenger bird service and the fact that only some Nando and Avarin possess the ability, or that the birds are spoken to in Nandorin. 
> 
> I’m also not entirely sure if the times of everybody’s travels are adding up, and hope that your suspension of disbelief isn’t too much bothered by possible discrepancies.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Written for _My Slashy Valentine 2021_ for Argleena, for the prompt _Erestor/Glorfindel, 3rd/4th age, "Angst, but preferably with a happy ending, but I can appreciate that endings aren’t always rainbows and butterflies."_


End file.
